


sweetest devotion

by anneweaver, maybesandsomedays, shafferthefirst



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Baby Fic, F/M, Fluff, Multi, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-08
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:35:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 14,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7130948
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anneweaver/pseuds/anneweaver, https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybesandsomedays/pseuds/maybesandsomedays, https://archiveofourown.org/users/shafferthefirst/pseuds/shafferthefirst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A drabble challenge with a twist: Jemma is always pregnant. All the time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. first impression

The first thing that comes to Fitz’s mind is “wow, that is a lot of black and white,” but of course that was expected, given that he had no experience whatsoever in reading ultrasounds. Jemma, however, grins widely, and points at the screen, her index finger trembling slightly.

“Look at our baby, Fitz,” she whispers, her eyes already filling up with tears. He squeezes her hand, willing himself not to cry.

This is the first time they’ve seen their baby, or whatever there is to see anyway. Knowing it exists and _knowing_ it exists are two different things, and up until now it had been an abstract concept in the back of their minds, just _there_ , like needing to eat or remembering the way from their lab to their room. But now, this black and white image is supposed to be the first tangible proof that it’s real. They created a human being, half him and half her, and it’s right there for them to see for the first time ever.

The technician, who had been silent until that moment, clears her throat and looks at both of them. “Would you like to hear the heartbeat?” she asks, and they look at each other briefly, stunned by the suggestion, before nodding at the same time.

She adjusts the transducer on Jemma’s belly and turns to look at the monitor before pressing some buttons on the panel below the screen. The room fills with an enthusiastic _thumpthumpthump_ that leaves them both completely speechless.

“Sounds healthy,” the technician says, and they can only nod in response. She turns back to the monitor and starts printing their baby’s very first pictures, while they stare at each other, wide-eyed, incapable of forming any coherent words, their fingers tangled together.

-o-

On their ride back home, Jemma sits on the passenger seat, holding the ultrasound pictures and staring intently at them, brows furrowed in concentration, a tiny smile on her lips.

“Has it spoken to you already?” Fitz asks from where he sits, next to her, eyes on the road. She chuckles.

“Sometimes I forget I’m not an actual medical doctor and I never learned how to read ultrasounds,” she explains, “but this makes absolutely no sense to me.”

“I have no hope, then,” he says. She folds the pictures, then, and neatly packs them inside a book she keeps in her purse, before resting her head on the seat.

“So,” she starts, “what do you think?”

“About what?” he asks, glancing at her before looking at the road again.

“We just saw our baby for the first time,” she explains, and he smiles softly.

“Well, actually, we just saw a blurry, black and white ultrasound. I’m choosing not to think of our baby as a shapeless blob.” Jemma lets out a big breath of relief. Fitz frowns. “What?”

“Oh, thank God,” she says, “I am having a lot of trouble thinking of this as our baby. I know I should be excited and I _am_ but, I can’t see anything here that looks even remotely like a baby?”

Fitz moves a hand from the steering wheel to place it on top of hers, and strokes her knuckles with his thumb. “Hey, those pictures are not our baby, okay? Now, if you’re having the same reaction after the baby’s born, then we might have a problem–-hey, now, why are you crying?”

She lets out a squeaky laugh and wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “I just was expecting my first impression of my child to be slightly different, that’s all.”

“Let’s just wait until you see her covered in blood and screaming after she’s born, and see what your first impression is then.”

Jemma groans. “For the _last_ time, Fitz, we don’t know if it’s a girl.”

He winks at her. “But we don’t know that it’s _not_ , so.”

The rest of the ride home is spent bickering about the sex of their baby, and the ultrasound pictures are left forgotten in Jemma’s purse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, so the main concept of this started out as a joke of sorts where we said that if we played one of those word association games, we could probably turn every word into a pregnant!Jemma scenario. And then we decided to actually do that! So we found a list of 200-ish words and the idea of this is to turn every single word in that list into a pregnant!Jemma drabble, in any capacity. These are not in chronological order, most of them are unrelated to each other (though there's a chance some of them will be related), and some of them might be AUs; there is only one thing in common and it's that Jemma is pregnant in every single one of them.
> 
> There's three of us and we each will write a drabble per week, so this should be updated on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays (unless it gets too annoying).


	2. beautiful

Fitz is in the middle of verbally mapping out his idea for the nursery setup when he notices it for the first time, and he temporarily loses the solid connection between his brain and his vocal chords.

_It_ being the teeny, tiny, nearly missed and certainly new curve of Jemma’s abdomen, revealed to his eyes only as she changes out of her button-down shirt of the day and into one of his faded tees. He can’t believe he hasn’t noticed until now.

She spins around once he stops talking, standing there in her bra and leggings, oblivious to the reason for his dropped jaw while he stares. “What?”

“I…Jemma…” He had grown past the struggle for words long ago when he needed them most, but now he’s completely at a loss for anything resembling the English language.

“Fitz? What is it?”

“Jemma, you…god, I don’t—you’re _showing.”_

She does that little furrowed brow half-smile she always does when she’s about to prove him wrong and drops her gaze to her stomach. “What? No I’m not!”

“No, I mean it. I can see it! Right there!”

"Fitz, that's preposterous! I think I would be able to tell firsthand if I was, given that it's _my_ body."

He rolls off the bed and moves towards her where she's now intently studying her form in the full length mirror, the shirt she was about to put on now folded and placed on his dresser. Fitz winds his arms around her middle, chin resting on her shoulder as he caresses her soft skin.

"See?" he murmurs, and stills Jemma's hands with his own. He traces her belly with their interlaced fingers over the tiniest of curves growing steadily. "Right there." 

Her breath hitches and he grins into her shoulder, knowing she finally must get it. She chuckles lightly. "Oh. That's... _wow."_

"Beautiful," he supplies, kisses her cheek. He can feel her skin growing warm in a blush.

"I can't believe I haven't noticed until now," she says dreamily. "I mean, I suppose it's because I see it every day so it doesn't look significantly different, but then again, so do you, so..." her words trail off as she leans back against him, content as she's ever been to be in his arms, their hands joined just above their growing child, just for this moment.

"Maybe it's because it seems too good to be true?"

Jemma tilts her head to face him, grinning. "That might be _exactly_ the case."

They stay like that for a long while with the occasional kiss on one's temple or shoulder. The world around them seems to slow to a peaceful pace, like a giant, global sigh has released above them in a blissful haze. Beautiful, as Fitz had said, is the only word in any language that can describe it.

That is, until:

"I can't wait until you're big enough to rest my snacks on."

And somehow, it only makes it that much better.


	3. mock

“Fitz, this is ridiculous.”

“It’s not! This’ll allow me to understand what you’re going through!” Fitz says enthusiastically, strapping the contraption to himself. He spins in a circle, trying to look at his back and see if he missed anything.

“You realize that’s meant to simulate nine months of pregnancy, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So I’m only five months. It’s not even accurate yet.”

Fitz shrugs. “It still works.” He finishes the final strap and turns the pregnancy simulator on, grinning proudly. “Ta-da!”

Jemma rolls her eyes. “Fitz, that thing is insane.”

Fitz stands with his hands on his hips. “It’s working! I can feel the mechanical kicks!”

Jemma places her hands on her hips too and stretches her back backwards. Fitz freezes.

“Jemma?”

“Hmm?”

“I just realized...I do this all the time. Have I always stood like a pregnant woman?!”

Jemma bursts out laughing, so hard she doubles over and has to support her baby bump with her hand. Tears start coming out of her eyes.

Fitz stands over her, hands back on his hips. “Jemma! Jemma, it’s not funny!” He realizes he’s doing the same pose again and drops his arms immediately.

“No matter what that thing says, I’m the pregnant one, not you,” Jemma giggles. She assumes the pose and a bad Scottish accent and says, “ ‘I’m Fitz and I have so much sympathy for my pregnant wife I’ve been copying her for almost thirty years!’ ”

“I don’t sound like that,” Fitz protests.

“You do. That’s how you talk and this is how you stand.” The baby kicks a little, and Jemma gestures in the direction of the kick and adds, “See, even your daughter agrees.”

Fitz squats down to eye level with Jemma’s belly and places his palm over it. “Betraying and mocking me before you’re even out of the womb, eh?”

“She knows what she’s doing.”


	4. feather

With a heavy sigh in relief, Jemma slips out of her flats and drops her shoulder bag on the sofa before even closing the door. A doctor’s appointment followed by errand after errand she’s been putting off for the past two weeks feels as though it’s a much greater effort than it actually is. That, in addition to the heavy gravitational pull weighing down her swollen middle, is definitely taking its toll on her aching feet this afternoon, memory foam insoles or not. She sighs again.

Jemma _really_ hates being pregnant.

She pads barefoot down the hall to change into something more comfortable, probably featuring her fluffy sheep slippers, but has to stop at the commotion coming from the adjacent bedroom. It’s probably nothing, but she can’t help herself.

_“Be still!”_

_“I can’t when you’re poking that right in my eye!”_

That’s a bit concerning. She rests her ear against the door to further investigate.

_“Am not!”_

_“Are so!”_

_“Nuh-uh! I’m helping!”_

_“ Helping with_ what _, exactly? Hmm?”_

_“You gotta be pretty for today, Daddy!”_

_“Are you saying I’m not pretty already? You wound me, Monkey. You really wound me.”_

Her curiosity wins by a landslide. Jemma swings open the door and nearly loses her footing at the sight of Fitz, clad in a purple feather boa and currently dodging their three—and three quarters!—year old daughter’s nearly blinding stabs at his closed lid with an eye shadow brush. He’s hunched over in one of her pint-sized play chairs next to its accompanying table, where the makings of a tea party are set up.

“Oh, was _I_ not invited to tea?” Jemma asks in mock offence, making her arrival home known. Hope tosses her big girl makeup aside collides with her legs at full force.

“Mummy! You got a cup just for case!”

“Just _in_ case, love,” she corrects fondly, tapping the tip of her nose and making her giggle. The little girl tugs her by the hand and seats her across from Fitz, depositing a blue boa around her neck once she’s at eye level.

Hope clears her throat, shifting to her attempt at a proper voice, which her father dubs her _doctor_ voice. “Now, we are ready.” 

Fitz drops his jaw and crosses his arms. “What? Mum doesn’t need a makeover first too?”

 _“Noooo,_ Daddy, Mummy’s a’ready pretty!” Jemma hardly has the time to blush, at both the comment and his adoring look, before she has to leap into action to keep her daughter from spilling tea everywhere, as Fitz decided to let her use the real substance this time around. Hope serves them as carefully as she can, with Mummy’s steadying hand on the kettle, but somehow manages to fill two cups in front of her.

“Oh, you’ve poured for me twice, darling.”

It’s her daughter’s turn to correct her this time. “One for you and one for my baby brother!”

Jemma grins at the gesture. “Or sister,” she says.

“Nope! It’s my brother. I just know.”

Fitz tickles her cheek with the loose feathers he’s collected in his hand. “You know, I had the same hunch about having a little girl not too long ago.” Off her broad smile, he stage whispers, “We blood-born Fitzes _always_ know.”

“And we blood-born _Simmonses_ rely on logic and reason,” she counters, tugging Hope close to kiss her other cheek with an exaggerated smacking sound to make her squeal.

They finish their little party with only two spills and a lot more laughs, and Jemma thinks that, so long as there’s a promise of many more moments with her family like this, maybe pregnancy isn’t the worst thing in the world after all. _Just_ maybe.


	5. smile

Fitz turns the video camera on and starts filming, before pointing it at Jemma’s flat belly and exclaiming brightly, “smile!”

Jemma sighs. “Even if our baby were capable of smiling at this stage of pregnancy, I don’t think you’d be able to capture it with a normal camera.”

He nods, then, and points the camera at her face, uncomfortably close to her nose. 

“Okay then,  _ you  _ smile,” he says, and Jemma gives a too-wide, fake smile that looks more like a grimace. He frowns. “Come on, you can do better than that.”

“Why are we doing this again?” she asks, her hand subconsciously rubbing her stomach. Fitz points the camera at himself.

“Because,” he says, alternating between looking at the camera and his wife, “I have decided we need to document every single moment of this pregnancy.”

“We really don’t need to,” Jemma adds, sitting on the edge of the bed. Fitz glares at her.

“You should be more enthusiastic about this,” he says, frowning.

“About you pointing a camera at me every minute of every day, even during the most inappropriate of moments? No thanks,” she says, sitting on the edge of the bed, “I still remember how…  _ enthusiastic  _ , you were, about your little video project our first year of SciOps. I’m most certainly  _ not  _ being a part of it if it happens again.”

Fitz gasps, and for a second Jemma isn’t sure if he’s really offended or just putting on a show for her sake. “It really wasn’t that bad,” he mutters, narrowing his eyes.

"You covered Agent Weaver in honey, Fitz,” she reminds him, and he covers his face and groans.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” he says, and then turns the camera off before sitting next to her and covering her hand with his. “It’s silly, I just really want our child to see how wanted he or she was,” he confesses in a small voice, “and I thought a video would be a great way of doing that. So we could always watch it and remember how the whole thing was. I don’t know.”

Jemma’s face softens and a wide, genuine smile appears on her face. She leans in and kisses his cheek.

“That’s not silly,” she reassures him, “it’s adorable. Even if you’re gonna follow me everywhere with that camera like you did the last time.”

She doesn’t notice Fitz turning the camera on again out of her sight, and suddenly he’s pointing the lens at her face again, almost bumping it with the tip of her nose. 

“A-ha!” he shouts, “finally a real smile! I win!”

Jemma laughs.


	6. tease

“Come on, Jem, just tell me!” Fitz insists, grinning, chasing Jemma around their bedroom.

Jemma giggles as she dashes as fast as her extra baby weight will allow. “You’re the one who’s so sure it’s a girl! You shouldn’t need to know!”

Fitz stops and shakes his head. “Gone for two days for a mission and my wife and unborn daughter are conspiring against me.”

Somehow during the chase, he manages to get her trapped between his body and the edge of the bed, and then she lies down flat and pulls him down for a kiss.

Fitz places his hands on her hip and bump, then slowly moves the hand on the hip in and when she’s deep in the kiss and not expecting it, he tickles her belly.

Jemma laughs against his mouth, curling up to make herself a smaller target, and then Fitz stops tickling and presses his ear against the bump.

“If you won’t tell me, she will,” he says. “What’s that, baby? Oh, you’re a girl? See, I knew it.” Jemma rolls her eyes at him, but the effect is off given her smile and her continued giggling.

Fitz moves up to pepper kisses all over Jemma’s neck, shoulders, and face, but when he gets to her lips, he hovers just above them, barely brushing their lips together, but close enough to feel the tingle.

“If you won’t tell me,” he says, his voice low, “guess we won’t do this either.” He rolls away from her and off the bed. “You want dinner? How’s pizza sound?”

The look Jemma gives him then could have completely incinerated him.

He’s halfway to the door before Jemma calls out, “Fine.” Fitz eagerly rushes back over to the bed, and Jemma reaches for her bag and pulls ultrasound photos out of it.

“You were right,” she says softly, gazing at him. “She’s a girl.”

Fitz’s grin is so wide it could split his face in half, and he leans over and kisses her. “I knew it.” Jemma rolls her eyes.


	7. pure

The water of the lake is so crystalline that they can see the ground underneath, the little fish swimming around, the plants in all their various colors and shapes. It’s a small lake, mostly surrounded by enormous trees and rocks, and at this time of day it’s completely empty just like Fitz said it would be. 

Honestly, it’s absolutely breathtaking.

“This  _ totally  _ beats the indoor pool at the Playground,” Jemma breathes out, eyes wide open, trying to take the scenery in. The baby kicks, and she knows her daughter is just as excited as she is about this.

Next to her, Fitz starts taking his shirt off. “Let’s go in, then, I know your back must hurt from the walk,” he says, holding his hand out for her to take, and she does. 

“Thank you for this,” she says, sincerely, “I know it must’ve been hard to convince Coulson to give us the month off–”

“Nonsense,” Fitz says, sitting on the edge of a rock and dipping his toes in the water while Jemma shrugs off her blouse, “I think he was relieved that you won’t give birth in the base. Plus, Mum is thrilled to have you here.”

“I’m thrilled to be here,” she says, and sits next to him, dipping her toes in the water like he did, and the cold feels incredible on her tired feet. She sighs and throws her head back, enjoying the little sunlight there is, and breathes the fresh air in.

Fitz looks at her, eyes closed, just enjoying the weather and the cold air and the water, her enormous belly catching most of his attention, and he thinks,  _ I have never seen anything so pure in my life _ .

A while later she opens her eyes and says, “I’m ready to swim,” so he slides down the rock to dip on the lake and holds his arms up to help his wife slide down too. She looks like she’s about to argue, as always, but then realizes she can’t safely slide with all the extra weight on her abdomen, and she accepts his help with a frown. 

“I can’t wait until I can freely move again,” she says, sadly, as the cool water hits her legs, then belly, then chest, and the weight of the baby is no longer pulling at her back muscles. She stretches her arms and smiles; she always did love swimming, even if for a while she associated it with traumatic experiences, but now that she’s heavily pregnant she has learned to appreciate it even more.

Around her, Fitz has started to swim, just as relaxed as she is, which is an amazing thing to witness; both of them enjoying big bodies of water again and making new memories in them,  _ better  _ memories, as if all of their trauma held no meaning for either of them anymore. Right now, they were happy again. 

“We have to teach her to swim,” Jemma blurts out, then, and Fitz stops swimming, stares at her.

“Well, of course,” he says, matter of factly. “I think I read once that if you expose babies to water while they’re young enough, they’ll instinctively swim–”

“It doesn’t work like that,” Jemma corrects him gently, “it looks like they’re swimming but they really aren’t, it’s more of an instinctive response to protect their airway.”

“Oh.”

“But once she’s old enough, we do have to teach her.”

“Well,” he says, and points at their current surroundings, “it’s a good thing she will have a lake in her backyard.” 

Jemma looks down at her belly, fully visible through the clear water, and then looks up at the trees and rocks around the lake, and smiles. “It’s a great thing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to St. Google, one of the definitions of the word "pure" is "free of any contamination" and the example it uses is _"the pure, clear waters of Scotland"_ so.


	8. lie

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi—this has no relation to chapter 4 :)

"Daddy's home! Mummy, quick! Daddy's home!" 

Jemma freezes at her seat on he edge of the bathtub, then looks at the timer on her phone. She still has another three minutes. 

"Keep him out of here, please!" she calls to the frantic four-year-old on the other side of the closed door. "And don't let him come in until I say so!"

"Okie dokie!" Hope chirps. On a new quest after being a highly successful lookout and brimming with determination, she bounces out of the room.

In the kitchen, Fitz is shoving two cookies into his mouth at once when his daughter skids to a halt on the hardwood. He gives her a toothy, chocolate-y grin that makes her laugh and swallows it down with a glass of water before swinging her up on his hip to pepper kisses on her cheeks and nose.

"Daaaaddy!" she shrieks, giggling and batting his face away. 

"How's my favorite girl today?" he asks, kissing her tiny palm when she covers his mouth. 

"I'm good!"

"Of course you are, monkey," he says and ruffles her springy curls. "And what's mum up to?" 

Hope gulps, resembling a deer in headlights. "Uh...she's..."

He frowns. "Hope? Is she okay?"

"Uh huh! But she's busy now! Leave a message after the beep!" She _beeps_  and nods encouragingly at his puzzled expression.

"Busy with _what_ , exactly?"

She panics. "Beep! Beep! _Beep!"_  

Fitzsets her down then. "Hope, what are you trying to hide from me?" 

"Nothin'!"

It's a mini stare down with twin hands on hips and furrowed brows that lasts maybe seven seconds before she cracks. "Mummy's, uh...um..."

Humoring her, Fitz kneels to her level. "What's Mum doing in there, hmm?"

"AMPUTATING HER ARM!" she blurts out.

Off that, he has to cover his eyes to prevent her from seeing his massive eye roll. She shifts her weight on each foot nervously.

"She might need some help with that, wouldn't you think, little bit?" He winks and starts walking to the bedroom. She shrieks and chases after him, latching on to one of his legs in protest. He ignores the additional carry-on and swings open the bathroom door.

"Y'know your daughter is as terrible of a liar as you are, right?" Fitz aims for a smug expression, but stops dead where he stands when he realizes exactly _what_  it was their daughter in question was trying to hide. "Uh, Jem?"

"Well then," Jemma says casually, stealing his smugness and making it her own as she waves the positive test in his direction, "perhaps the _next_ one will be better at it!"


	9. fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks to Georgia @jemmasimmins for the info on Robin Hood's Bay and England in general!! :)

_“Any chance you can distract those guys?”_ Daisy’s voice asks through the coms.

Jemma nods. “On it.” She turns to face Fitz and yells, “And you, my husband Frederick who I, Anita, married at Robin Hood’s Bay on July 25, 2015 at 4:45 PM wanted to name our daughter who we concieved exactly eight months, two weeks, and a day ago _Gurnifred!_ ”

He hadn’t read the thick binder of undercover persona information Jemma had prepared, but Fitz still catches on quickly. “It was—uh—it was my grandmother’s name?”

“It’s a terrible name!”

People are starting to stop and stare at them, including, thankfully, their target. Hunter sneaks behind them while they’re preoccupied with the fake fight. 

Jemma clutches her belly as pain starts to rip through her.

“Oh, pretending you’re going into labor to get a different name for her, that’s—” Fitz is cut off by Jemma’s noises of distress.  His face pales. “Oh, you actually are, yeah?” Jemma nods.

“Alright, let’s go. Hunter, Daisy, mission’s yours, we’re leaving.”

* * *

“So,” Fitz says later, resting his forehead against Jemma’s as they stare down at their new baby girl, “Gurnifred? What was that?”

 Jemma rolls her eyes. “It was the worst name I could think of.”

“Well I, for one, think that should be her name. You look like a Gurnifred, don’t you, baby girl?” The baby blinks at him.  
  
“If you ever call her that, you lose naming rights on all future children.”


	10. evasion

The first time she gets morning sickness, she convinces herself it’s because of the stress and nothing else. She rinses her mouth, washes her face and walks out of the bathroom like nothing happened, even if a little voice in the back of her mind tells her something must be really wrong for her to throw up like that.

Then, her breasts start getting  _ really  _ sore. That one is easier to just pin on Fitz and his obsession with her boobs, so she doesn’t think much of it and only warns him to go easy on her, and though he is momentarily confused about this request—because, really, she has  _ never  _ said that to him before—he nods and focuses on other parts of her body instead.

But then, her bladder starts to make itself known at least once every hour. This is when she starts to worry that it might be diabetes, and checks her blood sugar just to be safe, because diabetes does run in her family and such a high stress job would be disastrous for her health, but when the results come back normal, she shrugs it off.  _ Maybe it’s all the water I’ve been drinking lately _ , she thinks, and then realizes she was never a big water drinker in the first place and the increase in her water intake was odd by itself.

(She checks her blood sugar again, just in case, and once again the results are normal.)

A few weeks go by, and the vomiting has not stopped and neither has the peeing or the thirst, except now she can barely stand being in the lab anymore because every single smell in it makes her want to hurl. Fitz worries, of course, but she brushes him off and says maybe she’s just going down with a stomach flu or something of the sort, and when he wants to argue she kisses him and he forgets what he was going to say.

The thing that worries her the most, though, is when she wakes up one morning, checks her calendar, and walks straight to the bathroom to put a tampon on and…  _ nothing _ . 

She frowns, grabs her phone, checks the date again, counts backwards, then counts again, one more time to be sure, re-checks the date, realizes she  _ really  _ needs to pee, does so, wipes herself off, walks out of the bathroom and straight to Bobbi’s bunk and says, breathlessly, “I need you to check my blood for cancer markers.”

-o-

When Bobbi is drawing blood from her, she asks why on Earth could she possibly think she has suddenly developed a malignant tumor in two weeks. Jemma is a little pale and is already thinking of how she’s going to tell Fitz and how she’s going to tell her parents and how much the chemotherapy is going to hurt, so she barely hears Bobbi’s question.

“Huh?” she asks, and Bobbi repeats herself. Jemma sighs. “Well, I’ve been vomiting a lot which is really unusual for me, and I’m more thirsty than usual which means I’m peeing _ a lot _ more than usual and I initially thought it was diabetes but my glucose levels are perfect, and my boobs are very sore and now I missed my period so really, I think it might be a thyroid tumor. I have all the symptoms.”

By the end of her speech, Bobbi is grinning widely. Jemma glares at her.

“Do you think this is funny?” she demands, and Bobbi immediately shakes her head, though the grin doesn’t wipe from her face.

“Doctors _always_ think the worst,” she mutters, and before Jemma can say anything, she asks, “have you lost weight lately? Or  _ gained  _ weight?”

Jemma doesn’t like the way she says the word “gained” and frowns deeper. Then, she thinks back to the past month or so, and remembers that some of her jeans feel tighter than usual, but she had assumed that was related to the amount of water she was drinking… that, and the fact that for some reason Fitz’s candy stash had been really appealing lately…

“Not really, no,” she lies, and avoids Bobbi’s gaze.

“Mm, okay,” Bobbi says, sounding unconvinced, and pulls the needle out, pressing a cotton ball to the spot where she had poked Jemma’s arm. Once she disposes of the needle, gloves and cotton, she places both hands on Jemma’s shoulders and looks at her in the eye. “I’m gonna test your blood for any  _ abnormal  _ markers,” she announces, and there it is again, the amused look, “but I have a hunch that the results are gonna be a little unexpected for you.”

“Honestly, Bobbi, who expects to have cancer?” Jemma says, as Bobbi walks away.

-o-

Bobbi comes back with the results a few hours later, during which Jemma has been, to put it mildly, a nervous wreck, and the fact that Fitz was off in the field doing god knows what only added to her stress.

When her friend walks into her bunk, Jemma almost bursts into tears of both relief and fear. “Oh, you’re here,” she says, “tell me already, do I have cancer?”

Bobbi’s face still has that amused smirk on, so Jemma thinks it really can’t be that bad, can it?

“You don’t have cancer, Jemma,” Bobbi says, and Jemma buries her face in her hands, breathing deeply. Then, Bobbi speaks again, “you do, however, have some abnormal markers, though it’s nothing bad, at least in my opinion…”

Jemma looks at her. “What is it?” Bobbi hands her the tablet with her results, and points at one of the markers.

“Look at your hCG levels,” she says, simply. Jemma frowns.

"Well, it obviously can’t be testicular cancer…” she trails off, and Bobbi throws her hands up.

“You can’t be that oblivious, Jemma Simmons!” she cries, “you’re a genius, for God’s sake, stop evading the obvious, you know damn well what this means!”

_ hCG, _ Jemma thinks,  _ human chorionic gonadotropin, a hormone only produced by… _

_ Oh, my God _ .

“It can’t be,” Jemma whispers, and Bobbi plops next to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. Jemma looks at her friend, eyes already filling with tears. “I’m pregnant?”

“You’re pregnant,” Bobbi confirms. “Honestly, you have all the usual symptoms, how did you not realize it sooner?”

Jemma looks down at the tablet in her hands again, and sighs, “I just didn’t think it was a possibility? I mean…  _ wow  _ ,” she breathes out, “how did this happen?” 

“Well,” Bobbi says, and there’s that smirk again, “when two people love each other very much–”

Jemma interrupts her speech with a slap on her arm, and to her surprise, she starts laughing.

Pregnant. Wow.

She would have a field day holding this over Fitz’s head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: The hCG, or human chorionic gonadotropin, is a hormone produced by embryo cells _but_ it's also found in certain kinds of malignant tumors so people with testicular cancer can actually get a positive pregnancy test without actually being pregnant! Also, I took a bit of an artistic license here because I doubt at that stage of Jemma's pregnancy she'd actually find the hCG in her blood and it would actually be easier and faster to perform a home pregnancy test but this is SHIELD so :) [the_more_you_know.jpg]


	11. fire

Fitz is just beginning to drift off when he hears Jemma mumbling something unintelligible in her sleep. Not unused to (and typically amused by) her occasional ramblings late at night, he ignores it and pulls her closer, letting his palms rest snuggly on her small bump. 

"You're hot," she murmurs a moment later, to which he replies with a grin against her neck and a kiss to her shoulder. 

They're still for a minute or two, and then she's deliriously shrugging his limbs off of her. "Mm. No, _Fitz,_  I mean it literally!" she snaps, trying to wriggle out of his grasp. "Let _go_."

He releases her immediately, a touch offended if he's being honest, and scoots back to his designated side rather than the middle where they normally sleep. "Alright then." He huffs.

She winces when she notices his annoyance. "I think the dreaded hot flashes have begun," she explains with a sigh and peels the bedding off and away, "It's not an ideal combination when your hands are on fire."

Fitz pouts and rolls onto his back. He almost mutters something along the lines of _that wasn't a bad thing this morning_ , but refrains in order to keep the peace. 

"And you _know_ I can't sleep properly if I—"

"Get too hot, yeah, yeah. Back to sleep then."

He watches her settle for a moment before closing his own eyes, until he hears the rustling of sheets from Jemma shifting to her other side. She also snakes her arm near his chest and weaves their fingers together, and he quirks the corner of his lips at her consistently cold palm in contrast to his apparently opposite one. 

And when he wakes about an hour later to the sensation of her arms around his shoulders and her growing belly against his back, he can't even try to fight his grin. 

"Your hands are still freezing," he points out, voice thick with sleep. 

"Shut up," she mumbles between his shoulder blades. 


	12. cheer

He wipes the sweat off her forehead with a cloth and leans forward to give her a brief kiss on her hair, as her hand squeezes his harder than she ever had before.

“You’re doing great, Jem,” he says, reassuringly. “You’re doing great, it’s almost over.”

“I’m not!” she squeaks, her voice hoarse from all the screaming she had been doing. “I’m not doing great, I can’t do this—”

“Yes you can,” Fitz interrupts her, pressing another kiss to her hair. “You have done many things harder than this, you are the strongest person I have ever met and there’s no doubt in my mind that you can do this.”

“She’s crowning, it’s almost over, Jemma,” Bobbi announces from the bottom of the bed. Jemma throws her head back, a loud scream bursting from her chest like it’s ripping her apart.

“Come on, Jem,” Fitz whispers, his lips almost touching her ear, “you can do this, remember when you stitched up your own wound without anesthesia?”

“That was _nothing_ like this,” she growls, once the contraction has passed, and glares at her husband.

“But you didn’t know that yet,” he points out, “and you still did it. And remember when you jumped in front of a grenade—”

“Wait, you jumped in front of a grenade?” Bobbi says, her eyebrows shooting up. “That is so badass, Jemma. Even I haven’t done that.”

“It was—GOD—it was an ICER grenade, not a real one,” Jemma says, then, in between gasps. Fitz wipes her forehead again.

“But you didn’t know that,” he says, repeating his earlier words, “you just saw the grenade and jumped. You didn’t know it wasn’t going to hurt.”

Jemma grips his hand again, her nails digging into his palm, and screams again, as Bobbi says “I think this is the one” and Fitz whispers reassuring words in her ear.

Suddenly, the chaos in the room falls silent when a piercing cry echoes through the air.

* * *

“You know,” Jemma says, her eyes locked into her daughter’s gaze, “you are a really great cheerleader.”

From his spot, Fitz turns to look at her. “Huh? No I’m not, all I did was remind you all the amazing things you’ve done.”

“Yes, you are,” Jemma argues, “and without you right there I wouldn’t have done the most amazing thing. So thank you for that.”

“Whatever you say,” Fitz says, unconvinced, and traces his daughter’s face with the tip of his finger.


	13. teamwork

 

“This is the third monkey you’ve declined, Jem! I’m starting to think you have a personal vendetta against them.”

 

“Or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve chosen a different monkey  _ every single time.”  _ Jemma ignores his scoff as he tosses it back into the bin, then smirks when she sees which animal is in the next display. “What about a lion?”

 

Fitz snorts. “No, definitely not.”

 

“What? Why? It’s so  _ soft  _ and has several different textures to it; I think it’s perfect!” She holds it out for him to inspect, elbows him gently. “Not to mention it’s a  _ Leo.” _

 

“Which is exactly why we are not getting it!” 

 

“What, I can have my own Leo, but our unborn child can’t?”

 

“Based on that logic, we should find her a plush puzzle piece.” He chuckles at her raised eyebrow. “Because it...Fitz...alright, that was funnier in my head. But no lions!”

 

Rolling her eyes so intensely he has a slight fear she might get them stuck there, she moves on to the next section, leaving the lion behind. 

 

“At this rate, we might as well just stick with a traditional bear,” Fitz says. “The clothes fit them the best anyway.”

 

“No bears,” she warns. And that’s that.

 

-

 

Eventually, they do agree on one animal: a simple caramel colored bunny with warm brown eyes and soft floppy ears that are the perfect size for their baby to knead with her tiny fingers. Jemma’s smoothing them out with her own as they wait in line at the stuffing station, and Fitz can practically see the hearts in her eyes as a little girl in front of them excitedly warms up the tiny, anatomically incorrect but adorable, heart between her palms like the employee instructs her to. 

 

“And who is this little guy for?” said employee asks kindly once it’s their turn.

 

“Me,” Fitz says cheekily. Jemma swats his arm and hands her the bunny, giving a better view of her seven month and still kicking baby bump.

 

“Someone very special,” she smiles.

 

While she feels just a little bit silly performing the cheesy heart ceremony with all its ridiculous child logic and punning glory, having Fitz there beside her and rubbing it against his forehead after hers “so your friend will be as smart as you are” amongst others sends a pulse of joy through her veins, and once again when they take turns giving it tiny kisses. 

 

If this is what the future has in store for her, she’ll happily spin circles and make wishes in the middle of a crowded Build-A-Bear any day. 

 

-

 

“I think this is our best team effort yet,” he tells her on the way out, holding the cardboard box at eye level with the hand that isn’t holding hers to peek at the lab coat and converse-clad animal through the tiny windows.

 

“Really, Fitz?” Jemma laughs, gesturing to her lower abdomen. “ _ That _ ’s the best one?”

 

Fitz smirks, releasing her to drum his fingers against the bump. 

  
“Well, I  _ did  _ say  _ yet.” _


	14. book

Hope drags her younger sister by her hand and stomps inside her parents’ bedroom.

“Daddy!” she demands and, next to her, Charlie crosses her arms. Fitz looks at them from where he’s sitting, glasses sliding off his face as he dozes off with a book in his lap.

“What is it?” he asks. Jemma squirms in the other side of the bed, her eyes still closed even though, Fitz knows, she’s now awake thanks to their daughters.

“Our bedtime story,” Charlie reminds him, and he facepalms. 

“We can’t go to bed without a story, dad,” Hope adds. Fitz sighs, resigned, and slides his feet off the bed, careful not to disturb Jemma. He doesn’t notice her opening her eyes.

He looks at his daughters sternly. “Alright, ladies,” he says, “I’ll be there in a minute but go back to your room.”

Once again, Hope grabs Charlie by the wrist and drags her, this time away from their parents’ room and towards their own. Next to Fitz, Jemma lets out a low chuckle.

“You could’ve just said no, you know,” Jemma notes, and Fitz huffs.

“Sure, and deal with the wrath of a four year old  _ and  _ a three year old? No, thanks,” he says, and then something occurs to him. He looks at his wife, a grin on his face, “hey, Jem?”

Jemma’s eyes go wide. “Oh, no. Oh, no, no, I’m dismissed of bedtime story duties until I give birth, don’t rope me into this, I can barely  _ walk  _ , Fitz–” 

“But you never said you couldn’t  _ listen  _ to said bedtime stories, right?” Fitz points out. “I mean, if I tell Hope and Charlie that I’m also reading to their baby brother, they’ll walk in here and drag you out of this bed themselves.”

Jemma groans. “I hate you.” Fitz blows her a kiss and stands up, offering his arm.

“We have two daughters and an unborn son that beg to differ.”


	15. magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a disney's brave au :)

"You're supposed to be on bedrest."

 

"Like hell I am," Jemma snaps, struggling to pull her gown over her middle as she paces about the bedchamber. "Could you..."

 

Fitz sighs, rises from the foot of the bed, and tugs it the rest of the way. "The midwife _clearly_ instructed--"

 

"Well," she turns to face him, a smirk spreading on her face, "the midwife has never had to run a kingdom before, now has she?" 

 

"I am the king," he reminds her. "Running said kingdom is sort of my job too!" They both pause to chuckle at that.

 

" _Please_ ," Jemma grins at him, "we both know crises are better solved together."

 

"Yeah, yeah. And at least Hope has the stables under control. One less thing to worry about in your condition, and all that."

 

Their young daughter in question pokes her little head through the cracked door, having listened in on her parents' conversation for a while now. 

 

When she'd stuffed her saddlebag with sweets and set out on a small journey to follow the Will O' the Wisps she'd spotted months ago to fulfill her wish for a sibling, _three_ heartbeats coming from Mummy's belly is definitely not what she had in mind. 

 

_Magic works in mysterious ways_ , she'd been warned by the old wood carver in her tiny cottage, but she didn't back down. Her parents are the king and queen, after all, the two bravest and most stubborn beings in all the land.

 

"Princesses do not eavesdrop, Hope," the queen says kindly, amused as her daughter is pulled from her thoughts. Hope beams and scrambles onto the bed between them, but not without a little help from her father.

 

"Sorry," she says. Hope hugs her as far her little arms can reach. She jumps back abruptly at the feeling of something pushing against her. "What was _that?_ "

 

" _That_ was one of your brothers or sisters trying to say _hello_ ," Jemma chuckles, smoothing back her big curls. "They're getting stronger now."

 

"But not too strong, right Mummy? They won't pop out at once?"

 

"It could happen," Fitz interjects before she can answer. "You see, bit, Mum's actually housing three baby bears in there." Hope gasps. Jemma scoffs. "And if we're not careful, they might just jump right out at'cha and gobble us up!"

 

He exaggerates his words with his hands, tickling her at the end of his tall tale. She shrieks with laughter and scurries to the other side of her mother, who rolls her eyes fondly at their antics.

 

"Fitz! _Bears_ , of all things!"

 

Hope ignores her, still laughing. "What ever do we do, Daddy?" 

 

"The only way to keep them from getting riled up," he motions for her to come back to him, and stage whispers in her ear when she does, "is for your mum to _stay in bed like the midwife ordered."_

 

"Oh, honestly!" Jemma shrieks, but it's too late. Hope is already on his side.

 

"You have to stay in bed, Mummy!" She shoves at her shoulders in attempt to make her lie down. "You have to! Or else the baby bears'll eat us!"

 

"Darling, that's not--"

 

"We'll bring you supper and do your needlework and sort out the lords when they're acting a fuss and--" she babbles on a mile a minute, and Jemma sighs, defeated.

 

Besides, she'll need all the rest she can get after the babies _do_ come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fact: badass queen jemma stubbornly pregnant with triplets in the 10th century is the mental image no one asked for but everyone unconsciously needed


	16. fly

The insistent knocking on the door startles Jemma awake, but Fitz, thankfully, offers to open the door to let her resume her nap. She tries to make herself comfortable—a difficult talk ever since her belly became bigger than her body—but once she’s starting to drift off again, a very familiar voice echoes through the silence of their apartment. A voice that most definitely does not belong to Fitz.

“Bobbi?” Fitz asks, the surprise evident in his voice, and Jemma immediately turns around and starts to stand up. Why would Bobbi know where they live? Why would she be here?

“Hi, Fitz,” Bobbi says, and she sounds slightly out of breath, “I’d love to stay and chat but you and Simmons are in danger, and we’re getting you out. Right now.”

“Wait, what?” she hears Fitz say, just as Jemma finally manages to stand from the bed, the weight of her belly pulling at her back muscles. She groans, both in pain and in annoyance; of course they would be in immediate life danger even after they both decided to officially leave SHIELD and have a normal life.

Before she knows, both Bobbi and Fitz start rushing towards her room, and the door bursts open, Fitz’s face dark with worry. Bobbi hasn’t even looked at her before she  starts speaking.

“Jemma, hi, you’re–” she stops abruptly, and looks at her, mouth wide open. Specifically, looks at her belly.

That’s when she realizes that no one from the team would know she was pregnant, let alone eight months along. 

She grimaces, but manages to wave. “Surprise?”

Next to Bobbi, Fitz manages to not snort too loudly.

-o-

She’s waddling towards an apparent empty space, Fitz trying to help her support her weight, while Bobbi is fussing.

“Are you okay to fly? Have you ever even been on a plane while pregnant? What if you go into labor while flying?”

“You have midwife training, Bobbi,” Jemma reminds her, patiently, and sighs. Fitz seems to be really amused by the whole thing.

“I mean, you could’ve at least let us know–”

“May I just remind you that we were trying to not have any contact with any of you to avoid this exact situation?” Fitz says, then, and Jemma nods in agreement. Bobbi rubs her face, then presses a finger to her ear.

“We’re here, Hunter, whenever you want,” she says, and in front of them, the quinjet materializes, the cargo ramp opening to reveal Hunter with his arms wide open. 

When he spots Jemma, he drops his arms.

“  _ Holy shit!  _ ” he exclaims, his face lighting up, and Bobbi nods. Once Jemma steps on the ramp—which was more difficult than she was expecting, thanks, once again, to her belly—Hunter runs down and picks her up before trying to spin her around. His attempt fails, obviously, because of the extra weight.

When he puts her down, she’s laughing. “It’s nice to see you too, Hunter,” she says.

“Way to go, princess!” he says, then, pointing at her belly, and then shoots a thumbs-up to Fitz, who’s looking at the exchange from inside the quinjet, with an amused expression in his face. Then, Hunter’s face turns back to seriousness and points at the inside of the quinjet. “Okay, this has been nice but we really gotta get you out of here. Now.”

-o-

When they’re in the air, the baby starts to move. Jemma’s hand moves to her belly, and Fitz, who’s sitting next to her, raises his eyebrows.

“She’s moving,” Jemma says, to answer his silent question, and his hand moves to her belly too, eyes lighting up as they usually did every time he felt the baby moving. 

“Maybe she just likes flying,” Fitz offers, and Jemma shrugs.

“I hope she doesn’t because once I give birth I am never leaving the house again.”

Hunter snorts from the other side of the room, and both Fitz and Jemma turns to look at him. He waves a hand. “Sorry, it’s just… you two are something else.”

“Hi, sir,” Bobbi says, before either of them have a chance to say anything, as Coulson’s face shows up on the screen. 

“You got them out safely, agent Morse?” he asks, and even though neither of them can see her face, they hear the smirk in her voice when she speaks.

“I did, sir. All three of them.”

There’s a brief moment of silence, and then Coulson speaks again, frowning in confusion. “There’s… there’s only two of them, Bobbi.”

“Yeah,” Fitz says, walking to stand next to Bobbi, “about that…”

There’s another moment of silence, and then, from the other side of the line, Daisy’s high-pitched scream echoes through the quinjet.


	17. snow

They’d talked about returning before, the place of their eloping after only a few months of officially dating. However, Jemma did not expect said return to happen anytime soon. Not with their current situation, that is.

So when Fitz sends a dwarf over to the couch and drops the Tripadvisor paperwork, folded and held together with a thin red ribbon, right atop her swollen abdomen, she's shocked to say the least.

“One last hurrah before the baby comes,” he explains with a smile.

“Is this your way of compensating for not skydiving the day before our wedding?” she chuckles. “I suppose I'm to blame for suggesting it last minute, but–”

“You wound me, Jemma, you really do.”

Five days later, he’s poking her awake as the plane lands and the sunlight peeks through the little crack in the window shutter.

Four days later, he’s tucking a small poinsettia in her hair before assisting her down the three steps onto the stony path to the beach.

Three days later, he’s hanging their complementary mistletoe on the headboard for the excuse to kiss her a hundred times and then one more.

Two days later, he’s stacking candy canes on her belly as high as they will go, groaning when a particularly strong kick beneath knocks them over, and again when she throws a peppermint Hershey’s kiss at him.

One day later, he’s watching in awe as dozens of dolphins chase after the small boat they've boarded, as if following the glow that radiates off of his wife.

And today, after crashing a holiday party along the shore, he’s swaying her on the sand to pretty covers of the classics, making her laugh when he mumbles his own lyrics to better fit the setting.

_ “Oh the weather outside is _ …well actually it's quite nice and accurate to what the local meteorologist predicted…”

“Ugh,  _ Fitz!”  _ she swats at his chest, but he powers on her giggles.

_ “And the _ …snack table _ …is so delightful _ …”

“Is it now? I had no idea, as we were just robbing it.”

_ “As long as you love me so _ ,” he pecks her nose, eyes shining, “ _ let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.” _

Jemma raises an eyebrow. “What, no ad-lib?”

He shrugs. “Why mess with a good thing?” Fitz brushes the tip of her nose with his before resting their foreheads together. 

“And let it  _ sand _ wouldn't make much sense,” he adds after two beats.

“Mm, there it is.”

He twirls her playfully then, basking in her laughter, and brings her close again, releasing his hold on her to cradle the bump between them.

“I know you really wanted to spend our first real Christmas together at the cottage–”

Quickly, Jemma tries to interrupt him. “Fitz, don't even worry about that. Coming back here was a brilliant idea!”

“No, I know,” he smiles. “But I thought maybe, our first one at home would be even more special with the three of us there to celebrate?”

“That,” she beams up at him, “is a  _ wonderful _ idea.” 

They don't stop their dance when she captures his lips with hers, soft and gentle as the waves lapping at their bare feet. And when they break apart, Fitz spins her again with the biggest grin she's ever seen in him.

_ “Dashing through the _ …sand… _ in a one _ –seahorse– _ open sleigh _ …”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I'd really like them to have twins" -- Chloe Bennet / "Babies would be fine" -- Elizabeth Henstridge  
> "They have three kids" -- Jed Whedon  
> "Little FitzSimmons running around the base!" -- Ming-Na Wen
> 
> And it's only the first day of SDCC. Everybody prepare yourselves.


	18. Ice

“Fitz, could you get me some ice, please?”

He nods and quickly jumps to his feet, then grabs the ice from the freezer and hands it to Jemma. “What do you need them for?”

Jemma groans. “The baby’s been pressing on my spleen for the past twenty minutes and it’s immensely painful, and I read that if you—” she presses an ice cube against her belly and sighs in relief—“if you just do that, the baby will move away.” She leans back against the couch and smiles. “She’s off. Much better.”

“Can I try?” Fitz eagerly reaches for the ice, but Jemma swiftly moves it away from him.

“I don’t want to do it too much! I only did it because she wouldn’t move and I was in pain! What if it affects her?”

“One more time wouldn’t hurt, would it?” 

Jemma holds the tray out to Fitz, and he hits an ice cube out and places his palm against Jemma’s belly. “She’s there,” Jemma instructs, moving the hand, and Fitz presses the ice between his fingers. The baby moves to the other side quickly and kicks a protest.

Fitz’s eyes light up. “That was amazing! She’s amazing.”

“She only responded to the change in temperature. You’d do the same.”

“She’s _amazing_.”


	19. Kiss

Fitz puts down his blueprints and climbs into bed next to Jemma, who sets down her book, the tenth pregnancy book she’s read so far. “How’s it going?” she asks.

Fitz runs his hand down his face. “ ’S pretty good. I think I’m close.”

“I’ll look at it tomorrow. See if there’s anything I can do.”

Fitz nods. “For now, you and I and our babies all need to sleep.” He leans over and kisses her. “Good night, Jemma.” He then leaves a trail of kisses down her neck and chest, stopping at her belly. “Good night, baby number one,” he says, kissing one side, “and good night, baby number two,” kissing the other side.

Just as he kisses the second one, he’s rewarded back with a kick right against his mouth.

He jerks his head back, moving his mouth to relieve it and putting his hand on it. Jemma starts laughing so hard she doubles over and clutches her belly, tears coming out of her eyes.

“First time I’m able to feel a kick, and it’s that!” he grumbles, but he’s smiling. “I’m gonna have to find out which one did that to me when they’re born.”

Jemma laughs even harder. “Oh, you know you can’t.”

“I will figure it out and I will punish them with what they deserve,” Fitz says solemnly.

“Oh? And what’s that?”

Fitz leans over and kisses Jemma’s forehead. “More kisses, of course.”


	20. castle

When she comes back from work and walks inside the master bedroom, she finds Fitz asleep on top of a pillow nest, under what looks like a masterfully designed two-story blanket fort. She tries not to be impressed, she really does, but he managed to build  _ that  _ out of only blankets and their room’s furniture and that is very, very impressing. Plus, even if a small part of her was dreading the moment where they had to pick everything up, she knew for how long he had been planning to build a blanket fort—though she had no idea it would go to this extent—and how much he was looking forward to actually building blanket forts with their daughter, so she couldn’t bring herself to be annoyed.

She crawls under the fort and curls up next to Fitz, not wanting to wake him; of course, the moment she lowers herself next to him, his eyes flutter open.

“Welcome home,” he whispers, still half-asleep. Jemma curls even tighter against him.

“This is impressive,” she says, motioning around her, and then pokes him softly in the arm, “but don’t get me wrong, I am not enabling you.”

“Oh, you should,” he replies, pressing a kiss to her hair, “as the queen consort–”

“Excuse me,” she gasps, turning to look at him, “queen  _ consort  _ ?”

“Well, I did build the castle,” Fitz points out, and Jemma frowns.

“First of all it’s a fort, not a castle,” she retorts, “and second, I was the one who chose this apartment so technically if this were a kingdom I should be queen  _ regnant  _ , not consort.” 

“That is not fair,” he pouts, “now you’re ignoring all the hard work that went into planning and building this beautiful and fully functional blanket castle, and on top of that I am now a king consort.”

“Well,” she says, stretching her neck to press a kiss on his neck, “you just ignored all the hard work that’s currently going into carrying your child so really, you should be honored I am still letting you be my king and not like, a jester.”

Fitz gapes. “A jester? A  _ jester  _ ?” a smirk appears on his face, then, and she opens her eyes. 

“Oh, no, don’t you–”

He pokes her on the side once, twice, before he starts full on tickling her. “We’ll see if you find this funny, huh?” he says, and keeps tickling her as she squirms and tries to wriggle away from his hands. 

One particularly violent arm movement later, and the rope holding one side of the blanket roof falls apart under her hand, dumping a pile of blankets on top of them.

They sit silently for a few moments, and then burst into hysterical laughter.

“So much for a fully functional blanket fort,” she says, in between little gasps, and Fitz stops laughing suddenly.

“A castle, Jemma. It’s a  _ castle  _ .”

“Not anymore,” she mutters, and they both start laughing again.


	21. work

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the food truck au (http://archiveofourown.org/works/3684708)

“Fitz, this is ridiculous,” Jemma says into the phone. “I’m perfectly capable of working. I’ll be fine.”

“You’re a week away from your due date.”

“And in that week, I can be keeping busy!”

“There are plenty of things you can do to keep busy at home.”

“I’ve done them all.”

“You’ve been home an hour.”

Jemma sighs. “How’s my truck without me?”

Fitz chuckles. “Trip may actually be the only person in the world who knows more than you about vegetables.”

“Hey, no one knows more than I do about vegetables.”

“Good point. You still can’t come into work, Jem, you’re on maternity leave.”

Jemma pouts. “I’m not a mother yet. I should be able to work.”

She can _hear_ Fitz smiling into the phone. “Find something to do and I’ll be home soon, alright?”

“Alright,” Jemma concedes. “And then I’ll _do_ you.”

When Fitz walks in the door later, he stops. “Jemma, please tell me you’re not making any of your items.”

She beams at him. “It’s perfect! This way, I’m not at the truck, but I’m still working! All of these things can go in the fridge overnight, and you can bring them in the morning!”

Fitz comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her, placing a kiss on her neck. “I thought the whole point of you being home was relaxing before the baby and not working.”

“But that’s not exciting at all, Fitz!” she says. “I read a book and a half, I watched TV…what do people _do_ at home all day?”

“Most people would be excited about that, you know.”

“Well, I happen to enjoy my work.”

“Our baby’s going to have a crib in the truck, isn’t she?”


	22. empty

****She’s sifting through gift bags from the baby shower hours earlier when he returns from his late night Chinese takeout run she’d sent him on.

 

“I’m just organizing them by age of suggested use,” she explains without looking up from her notepad. “I’ll be done in a jiff!” Fitz shrugs and pops an egg roll into his mouth, familiar with her insistence of patterns in daily life. Surely this one won’t take longer than any other.

 

But a jiff actually does take longer than what was anticipated. Around eleven, he sighs and brings her a plate. She’s still at it.

 

“Figured I should go by seasons as well,” Jemma waves the tiny outfit she’s holding that resembles a toasted marshmallow more than a winter coat and bloomers set and he sighs again, setting her dinner on the cherry wood changing station and retreating.

 

This goes on periodically throughout the night,

 

_“It’s fine! Just getting a head count of the plush toys! We have a lot of those, apparently.”_

 

_“I’ve just got to list the duplicate items we have!”_

 

_“Go on to bed, I’m trying to build an accurate ratio of what we have to what we still need. I’ll be there in a minute!”_

 

_“I’m only taking the tags off and then I’m done! Choking hazard and the like.”_

 

_“Do you think we have enough socks? I’m adding more to the list, just in case.”_

 

_“Alphabetizing the bookshelf! Go back to bed!”_

 

_“I’m almost finished, alright! I just have concerns about this collapsable playpen. For example, what if it, oh I don’t know, collapses while she’s in it? Hmm? Check and mate.”_

 

_“Oh, for god’s sake, Fitz! Will you please just let me live!”_

 

He places a mug of hot chocolate next to her hardly-touched dinner around 3AM. “Jemma.”

 

“What now?” Jemma snaps, exasperated, from where she’s seated in the floor of the nursery, surrounded by piles and piles of baby necessities. He allows a knowing expression to be an answer and she finally looks up at him, blinks, and then around at the room as if she’s only just realizing what she’s done. “Oh.”

 

Pushing aside the stuffed animal pile, Fitz finds a seat beside her and wraps his arms around her. She leans into his touch. “You’ve been at this for five hours now. You need _rest,_ love. It’s not like the baby’s coming tomorrow.”

 

“On the contrary, she’s past the age of average survival for premature babies outside of the womb—” she starts, but he covers her mouth with his palm. She shakes him off to bump her forehead against his tiredly. “I know, I know. I’m being irrational.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t call it _irrational,_ ” Fitz murmurs, “just safe.”

 

“Sure.” Her eyes pan around the room and she sighs again. “I came in earlier to start washing some of the clothes—you’re supposed to do that before she’s born, you know—and suddenly the nursery just seemed so… empty. I couldn’t help myself.”

 

“Nesting is the term you’re looking for, I believe.” Off her raised brow, he grins. “I did my research too, you know.”

 

Jemma smiles widely, leaning in for a sleepy kiss. “Bedtime?” she asks once they part.

 

“Bedtime.” He helps her to her feet and switches the light off as they leave. The sunrise nightlight already plugged in catches him by surprise, but he grins fondly nonetheless. She _would,_ of course.


	23. waiting

All six pregnancy tests are lined up neatly on top of the bathroom counter. Jemma sits, cross-legged, on the toilet, and Fitz, next to her, sits on the floor, head resting against the wall, hands pressed against his eyes.

Neither of them says a word. 

One minute  and forty-six seconds later, Jemma finally breaks the silence with a small groan. 

“I can’t wait any longer,” she mutters, and Fitz hums in agreement. He doesn’t say anything, mostly because he fears his voice will fail him if he does, but also because he just doesn’t know what to say. 

If those tests were positive, it would mean they were having a  _ baby  _ . An actual human being they both made. A small child, half hers and half his–

“I mean, we should probably talk about this,” Jemma says, interrupting his thoughts. He wordlessly nods, which she takes as her cue to start rambling. So she does. “First of all, if I’m pregnant we’ll have to quit. I am not raising my baby in this base.”

“Agreed,” Fitz says, his voice barely above a whisper. She places her hand on his shoulder.

“And in that case, I think between the both of us we have enough savings to either get a flat somewhere here, if we want to raise her–”

“Her?” He asks, eyebrows raised, and she grimaces.

“I always imagined my first child would be a girl, it’s nothing,” she explains, waving her hand, “my point is that we want to discuss if we want to stay here or go back to either England or Scotland and, in that case, where do we want to live?”

Fitz clears his throat. “Well,” he says, “I thought you said you wanted to live in Perthshire.”

Jemma beams at him. “I can’t believe you remember that.”

“Of course I do,” he frowns, “but let’s put that on the back-burner for a moment. More pressing issues: public or private school?”

Jemma looks at him like he’s grown a second head. “Private, Fitz.  _ Obviously  _ .” He nods.

“Good. I am not putting my child through the torture of public school.”

“I completely agree, though the diversity of public school could be good for her–”

“Jem, no,” he cuts, “no public schools. The quality of education is way lower, there’s a much wider student-teacher ratio and–”

“Okay, fine, no public schools!” Jemma says, squeezing his shoulder. Then, her face turns serious. “Fitz, we’re not married.”

He huffs. “Not legally.”

“I mean,” she says, slowly, “that I don’t want that to be an issue.”

“It won’t be,” he says, placing his hand on top of hers, “the main issue I see here is where you’re going to give birth because I can’t see your parents and my mum agreeing on that.”

“I’ll give birth wherever I want to, thank you very much,” she says, solemnly, “they’ll have to deal.”

“Okay,” he says, “breastfeeding?”

“ _ Obviously _ .”

“Nannies?” 

“Depends on whether we’ll both be working or not, but I’d rather not hand my child off to a stranger, at least not until she’s old enough to recognize said stranger is not her mum or dad.”

“In that case, no nannies. I could tell my mum–”

“Oh God yes.”

“Right. Names?”

“I have a list.”

It’s his turn to beam at her. “Of course you do.”

In that moment, Jemma’s phone goes off, and they both look at each other for a moment before scrambling to grab the pregnancy tests. Before Fitz looks at the results of the test in his hand, though, Jemma puts a hand on his.

“Fitz,” she mutters, and he puts down the test. She takes a deep breath. “Before we look at the results, we should probably talk about the most important part. Do you want this baby?”

He huffs, and pulls her closer. “I just spent about thirty seconds rambling about why I am not putting my child through public school. Do you think I would do that if I didn’t want this baby?”

She nods. Then, takes a pregnancy test from her side, and he finally grabs the little stick in his hand. When he looks down and sees a little plus sign, he barely has time to process before Jemma screams.

“Oh, my God!” she says, a little hysterically, then drops the test she’s currently holding, grabs another one, and screams again, “positive! That’s two–”

“Three.”

“Three– and four, five,  _ six _ !” she says, looking at the other three remaining tests on the counter. “Six plus signs! All positive!” She grabs him by the shoulders and plants a messy kiss on his lips, “we’re having a baby, Fitz!”

“We’re having a baby,” he repeats, in a whisper, and then pulls her by her waist and hugs her.


	24. sing

**Sing**

 

_ “Two little monkeys jumping on the bed, one fell off and bumped her head…” _

 

Jemma’s face scrunches up in confusion but doesn’t wake just yet. He chuckles, then returns to his task, walking the first and middle fingers of both hands along the swell of her stomach in tune with the song.

 

_ “Mummy called the doctor and the doctor said, ‘No more monkeys jumping on the bed.’” _

 

Fitz drops one hand atop the pillow next to them with a hushed dramatic noise and continues with only his left hand. When he runs out of monkeys, he starts it up again, over and over absentmindedly, and fairly entertaining himself all the while, until…

 

“Exactly how much longer do you plan on keeping this up?” Startled, he snaps his head up to find a smirk painted on Jemma’s face, though her eyes remain closed. 

 

“Mmm, a bit longer,” Fitz mumbles, craning his neck where he’s laying across the couch next to her (she’d dozed off in a seated position with her feet on the ottoman) to plant a kiss on her bump. “Little monkey seems to be enjoying it. She keeps kicking when I sing.”

 

“She’s got good taste. But you should know that she also kicks just about any time you speak.” She runs her fingers through his hair. “She just likes to hear your voice.”

 

Jemma has to hold back her gloating when his eyes glaze over for a split second, and then he’s scooting forward to nuzzle his nose against her stomach before pressing another kiss there. 

 

“I love you too, little one,” Fitz whispers. Sitting up entirely, he reaches for her once again. “One more time, for that matter, yeah?” She rolls her eyes and shifts to where she's reclining a bit more, giving his fingers a bigger stage to perform on.  _ “Two little monkeys jumping on the bed…” _

 

“You do recall that there are seven little monkeys, not two, right?”

 

“Well it would certainly  _ help _ if I had more than two hands,” he trails off, eyebrow raised in challenge. 

 

She sighs, “Oh, alright,” allowing her hands to join his on her horizontal stripes sweater. “Just  _ one _ time.” 

  
  


_ “Four little monkeys jumping on the bed,”  _ he sings gleefully.  _ “One fell off and bumped his head.” _

 

Jemma grins.  _ “Mummy called the medical doctor and the medical doctor said, ‘bring him to the ER immediately, we’ll need to do an MRI to check for a potential concussion! ’” _

 

“And this is why we can't have nice things,” Fitz groans over her giggling, face in the cushion.

 

“Excuse you, but I'm fairly sure  _ this _ is going to produce something  _ very _ nice in just a few weeks.”

 

“Yeah,” he smiles. “And very loud, too.”

 

“She’ll get that from you.” She cradles his face with both of her palms, kisses him slow, and he covers them with his. Momentarily distracted, she doesn't notice him tugging their hands back to her belly until he breaks the kiss. “I wasn't finished.”

 

“Yeah, well, neither was I. We still have three monkeys left!”

 


	25. ride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in a sort of equestrian AU where May owns a barn that Fitz, Jemma, Daisy, and everybody else ride and own horses at.

Fitz and Jemma are woken up by their bed being bounced by an excited toddler.

“Mummy! Daddy! Get up! Grandma May is gonna teach me how to ride a  _ horse  _ today!”

Hope’s younger brother starts pounding on Jemma’s insides in protest. “Careful, Hope, you can’t bounce, you’ll upset the baby,” Jemma chastises, and Hope immediately stops and looks sheepish.

“Sorry, Mommy.” She presses her head to her mother’s belly. “Sorry, baby.”

“He says it’s okay,” Fitz tells her.

Hope grins again. “When the baby’s born, can I teach him how to ride a horse too?”

“Of course you can. Just when he’s a little older, yeah?”

They arrive at the barn not long after that, Hope beaming and proud in her brand-new riding pants and boots. “Can I ride Sing-larry?” she asks, looking up at her mother.

“You know you can’t yet,” Jemma says; Singularity, her own horse, is much too big and strong-willed for a toddler. “Someday. But now why don’t you go with Daddy and get Pippa?” Fitz reaches out his hand, and Hope grabs it and starts pulling him toward Pippa’s paddock. “I’ll go get her, though,” Jemma calls after them.

Stuffing a few treats in her pockets, Jemma heads out to collect Sing, who greets her by the gate and nuzzles her bump, and then mouths against the pockets, looking for the treats. Jemma laughs and pulls one out, holding the treat out with one hand and clipping the halter on with the other.

When she gets back in the barn, Fitz and Hope already have Cosmos and Pippa set up on crossties, and she soon learns Hope is determined to groom Pippa completely without any help.

“She’s doing good,” a voice says from behind her, and Jemma jumps around to see May, standing watching Hope.

“She’s very excited,” Jemma says.

May nods. “I’m sure she’ll be a great rider. Isn’t that right, Hope?” she calls, a little louder, and the next second, Hope is shrieking “Grandma May!” and running into her arms. May hugs her and smiles, and then says, “Why don’t you go finish up with Pippa, okay? Then we can get started.”

Hope nods diligently and darts back to Pippa, running the curry comb in circles over her back. Daisy appears with some tack for Hope and hangs it over a nearby stall door.

Soon enough, Daisy’s showing Hope how to tack up Pippa, Fitz has Cosmos ready and waiting, and Jemma has Singularity groomed and on a leadline for hand-grazing.

Daisy leads Pippa to the mounting block and Hope climbs on her back, and then May leads her into the ring. Fitz mounts and follows, and Jemma stands on the other side of the fence, leaning against it, letting the lead rope go slack in her hand as Singularity’s head drops down to the grass. Jemma rubs her belly, wishing she could still ride, excited for the day to come when she can both ride again and introduce her son to her horse.


	26. longing

Jemma rocks back and forth, trying to muster up the energy required to flip so that she’s lying on her other side and take her giant belly with her. The moment she finally settles, she instantly realizes that she had been more comfortable the other way, and she groans loudly, staring at the clock displaying 3:26 AM.

She needs this baby out soon. It’s the only way she can have Fitz take the baby for a night so she can get the first good night’s sleep she’ll have had in months.

She contemplates waking Fitz up, but she knows that’s more trouble than it’s worth, since waking a sleeping Fitz is nearly impossible. Distantly, Jemma hopes that her daughter will inherit Fitz’s sleeping habits.

As she tries to maneuver herself enough to flip back over, she starts to wonder what her daughter will be like. Will she like science? Will she be a writer? A photographer? An animal lover? Will she have Fitz’s eyes? Jemma’s nose?

Jemma sighs. She wants to meet her already. She’s tired of being pregnant. She wants to just see her baby, but more than anything, Jemma doesn’t want to be pregnant any longer. She’s decided she  _ hates  _ being pregnant.

She pokes her belly. “You almost ready in there?” The baby kicks the spot where she’d poked.

The next moment, Jemma’s water breaks.

She grins, even as a mild contraction hits. She’s going to have a hell of a time waking up Fitz.


	27. drink

“I’ll pour us another round!” Hunter slurs and stumbles out of his seat as the rest of the group whoops at him in their respective drunken states. 

 

Well, everyone except Jemma, that is.

 

A cranky, very sober Jemma Simmons huffs at his exit, leaning back against her boyfriend’s outstretched arm. Fitz chuckles lightly, which earns him a frown without looking up from her tablet. “Fitzy, would you look at this article on leatherback sea turtle life in the Gulf of Mexico?” she asks sickly sweet in her obvious lie voice, paired with a very pointed look. “It’s quite a find, I’d say.”

 

She shoves it his way before he can answer and the true find is the message she’s typed on the notes app in his face:  _ It’s not funny! They’re not picking up on it at all! _

 

He bites his lip to keep from laughing again, types:  _ You can’t be cross with them for not even dropping a hint, Jem,  _ and passes it back to her. 

 

_ I couldn’t have been more blatantly obvious if I told them I wanted a virgin  _ _ piñ _ _ a colada! Which I did only an hour ago! _

 

Thankfully, their friends are too far gone on this rare night off to really question the couple.

 

_ For the record, you announced it in the middle of Daisy’s unsuccessful attempt to teach Coulson how to rap. Even I wouldn’t have known what you meant during that. _

 

_ Oh I’m sorry, but wasn’t it  _ your _ idea to tell everyone in a casual fashion?  _

 

_ Is that a tone I’m sensing? _

 

She reaches to take the tablet back but he yanks it back in record time.

 

_ You definitely have a tone there. _

 

Scowling, she abandons the device to turn back to the team as Hunter renters with more shot glasses. “Oh, no thank you,” Jemma says, tilting her head. “None for me.”

 

“Suit yourself, princess,” he skips her, distributes the rest, and settles back between Bobbi and Mack. Her comment is forgotten amongst the drunken chatter, sending steam out through her ears.

 

“Really?  _ None _ of you are going to question why I’m not drinking?  _ Not one of you? _ ”

 

Daisy sets the glass she’s just brought to her lips back on the table, stares her down really close.  _ “I _ know why you aren’t drinking,” she says seriously. Before Jemma can fully hold her breath, she answers herself.  _ “You _ are designated driver!”

 

“Are you-you  _ have _ , what the,” she splutters. “We  _ live at the base, _ Daisy!”

 

“Safety first,” Bobbi nods encouragingly, raising her own shot. Jemma groans and checks the time on her phone to keep from exploding altogether.

 

“Do not text and drive,” Elena smirks into her next drink, sending nearly everyone into a coughing fit. That does it.

 

Jemma throws her arms in the air in exasperation. “I’m  _ pregnant, _ you ignoramuses!  _ That _ is why I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in  _ weeks!” _

 

The entire base falls silent for a beat, then two. And then May utters a single word. 

 

“Obviously.”

 

And the laughter starts up again, twice as strong as before. Even Fitz can’t keep a straight face in the moment for moral support.

 

“You… all of… you  _ knew?!”  _ Jemma demands with a shriek. Everyone nods and laughs harder, much to her dismay. “What in the…  _ how…” _

 

“Babe,” Bobbi says after catching her breath, draping an arm around her shoulders. “I hate to break it to you, but you aren’t very subtle.”

 


	28. rest

With fifteen years of being part of a secret government organization, including field assessments, undercover work, very brief espionage training, holding up under torture from her greatest enemy, and the factor of surviving on a graveyard of a planet for six months under her belt, one would assume Jemma Simmons was capable of being the _least_ bit sneaky.

Well, the argument that she _was_ could be made, but in recent circumstances…

“And just _what_ do you think you're doing out of bed?”

_Shit_.

Jemma squeaks and takes a step back, but not without swaying a little to right her center of gravity, and narrows her eyes. “Mind not startling me like that? I'm toting around a _time_ _bomb_ , in case you haven't noticed!”

“If by time bomb you mean our unborn children whom you are supposed to be on bed rest because of, and therefor I am not at blame for early labor if you're snooping around like this,” Fitz takes a step towards her from where he had leaped between her and one of the lab doors, “then yes. I'm very much aware, thank you.”

She frowns. “I just wanted to check the--”

“Nope.”

“Or maybe I--”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Perhaps I could just--”

“Not a chance.”

She groans loudly, stomping her foot, then looks like she immediately regrets it for just a moment, before giving him the stink eye again. “Don't tell me what to do, _Leo.”_

“I'm simply repeating the doctor’s orders, Jem,” he says. “No stress, no heavy lifting, no strenuous activities, and definitely no lab work until further notice.” Fitz pecks her forehead, guiding her back to their bunk. “Now, back in bed you get.”

“I'm a doctor too,” she pouts.

“Not the same kind.”

“You always say I'm the smartest person you know.”

“And you say the exact same about me,” he winks. “So maybe trust me on this, yeah?”

Jemma stares him down for a beat, but reluctantly gives in. “Oh, alright,” she sighs, allowing him to steer her back to her side of their bed. “Nap with me?”

“I actually have a lot of work to do, you know,” he scratches at the back of his neck while she settles in, “with acting as both halves of the heads of the science division and all that.”

She throws her head onto the pillow. “Rub it in, why don't you!”

“Gee, someone’s cranky.”

“No _shit.”_

He grins in amusement, ultimately deciding a few minutes won't put him too far behind schedule, just until she dozes off, and climbs in beside her. She gets that dopey look on her face and leans in for a kiss… which she immediately deepens, fumbling with his shirt collar.

“Jemma,” he says sternly.

“Hmm?”

“This isn't napping.”

She moves from his mouth to his jaw and down his neck, teeth scraping against his adam’s apple. “Mhmm.”

“And I'm pretty sure this is quickly leading towards a strenuous activity.”

“Mmm.”

She removes her lips in favor of resting her forehead there, nuzzling against his collarbone. He humors her, threads his fingers through her hair to loosen her ponytail, until they both drift off to sleep.


	29. kindness

 

“Lights out, Fitz,” she grumbles when she rolls over to face his side, the brightness of the lamp rousing her from sleep.

 

“Hmm? Oh, sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you; just a minute.”

 

When her eyes adjust to the dim light of their room, she notices what he’s up to at this hour, what he always does after a rough, punch-in-the-gut type of day. Jemma scoots closer, resting her head on his lap where he’s sitting up.

 

“I like that one,” she murmurs.

 

He holds up the faded picture in question and she nods. “It’s embarrassing.”

 

“That’s why I like it.” Fitz taps the tip of her nose before holding it closer for inspection.

 

“Yeah, you would. Mum loves it too; ‘s why she won’t let me toss it.” After a moment of looking it over in comfortable silence, he adds, “I still can’t believe she just stood there and took the picture instead of intervening.”

 

“Because it’s sweet!”

 

“I was scared to death!”

 

She takes the snapshot from him and runs her fingers over the edges, smiling fondly. “You climbed a tree just to save your neighbor’s cat even though you were afraid of heights, Fitz.”

 

He rolls his eyes, “Jem—”

 

“It’s just so you!” She beams up at him. “Throwing caution out the window just to help someone in need, despite your own reservations. Sound familiar?”

 

Considering it for a beat, he sighs, draping his arm around her shoulder and grazing her skin with his fingers. “I see your point.”

 

“I know you’re still upset over what Radcliffe said today,” Jemma states as gently, but firmly, as possible, “but he’s wrong.” She pushes off his thigh to sit up next to him, guiding one of his hands to rest on her still-flat stomach before cradling his face in hers. “You are going to be the kindest, smartest, most incredible father our child could ever ask for. And I believe that with all of my heart.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> guess who's back
> 
> back again


	30. Embrace

The nightmares had been almost non-existent for almost a year now, but the pregnancy hormones and the anxiety she had been feeling for the past few months had finally gotten the best of her, and she had woken up drenched in sweat and tears. Thankfully, next to her, Fitz had been out like a light, so she decided to spare him the worry and, instead, padded carefully to the kitchen to make herself some warm milk.

Her husband, apparently, had noticed her absence as soon as she left; not even a full five minutes later, he was standing behind her, slowly wrapping his arms around her swollen abdomen; his hands rested softly on her belly, but she noticed with delight that his fingers couldn’t touch anymore when he hugged her from behind.

He presses a kiss to her neck, then rests his chin on her shoulder. “You're getting so big now, it’s incredible," he comments, and she smiles, keeps stirring her warm milk. “Nightmare?" he asks, and she nods in response.

“How did you know?"

“Warm milk is your nightmare drink, Jem," he points out, his lips barely brushing the skin of her neck. He doesn’t point out that the mug was shaking in her hands, or how her breathing was faster than usual, instead he only asks: “are you alright? Do you need to talk?"

She hums, places the mug on top of the kitchen island, and moves her hands so her palms are resting on top of his hands and her fingertips are touching her abdomen. He pulls her even closer to him, their bodies pressed together as tight as they could possibly be.

One of the twins chooses that specific moment to start kicking, right on the spot Fitz’s hand was, and he chuckles. 

“Well, good morning to you too,” he says, then. Jemma frowns.

“Do you think they notice when I have a nightmare?” she asks him, suddenly worried.

“Well, there are certain physiological responses, like an increased heart rate—which I’m sure they’d notice—but I don’t think they’ll be able to tell a nightmare apart from, I don’t know, other kinds of physical exertion,” he says, noticing the way her body seemed to relax under him the more he spoke; her posture seemed less upright, and her breathing slowed down. “And to answer the implicit question, I don’t think it’s bad for them. They’re alright, and so are you.”

“I know,” she sighs, “it always takes me a while to feel, you know,  _ safe _ again. I think it’s worse now that there’s more at stake.”

“But now we’re not in danger anymore,” he points out, then, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, “we don’t work at SHIELD anymore, they can’t reach us, and we’re together. We’re as safe as we can be.”

She sighs once again, and nods. Right now, wrapped inside his embrace, she knows she’s safe. It would take a while, but she knew she would feel safe again. 

She turns around, then, and gently grabs his face to give him a kiss. “Thank you,” she says, and this time, she wraps her arms around his shoulders and buries her face on his neck, as much as she can when there’s an enormous belly between them; she can feel Fitz laughing.

“No, I’m serious, you’re really big,” he says, amused. She swats his arm.

“Watch it, I’m carrying your children,” she warns him, before he presses one last kiss to her forehead.


End file.
